Chapter 9: Storm Warning
Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight.
Derek drove Bella to the house, and walked her to the door to be sure she was okay. Then, against his better judgment, he drove to the nearest taxidermy shop to drop off the monster in his backseat. He made it in the nick of time. The clerk was just about ready to close up and head home away from the wind and rain.
The storm was closing in fast; he barely made it home safely himself. His car had been weaving all over the road due to the force of the wind. He had only been home a few minutes when his father took him aside.
"Renee Dwyer just called. She's stuck at the airport. The plane with Phil in it, is grounded somewhere in Texas and they can't return to Florida because of the hurricane. No one is being allowed to leave the area. She asked if you could keep her daughter company until the storm passes over."
Was no even an option? Bella was probably scared to death. She'd never been in a hurricane before. "Sure, no problem. Let me get my flashlight and slicker."
"Derek, "his father admonished. "I shouldn't have to say this, but—you are going to be alone with a girl I suspect you're very fond of. I expect you to be nothing less than a gentleman."
"Don't worry, Dad. Bella wouldn't let anything happen. She doesn't even see me that way."
The older man shook a finger at his son. "If you say so. I'm counting on you to be careful. Emotions are a funny thing; they can always change when you least expect it, you know.
Derek stood, shaking his head. If only that was true. Sigh . . .
Renee's voice was filled with panic as she talked to Bella on her cell. "Oh, sweetie, thank god you're safe at home. I'm not going to make it back tonight. The airport security is not allowing anyone to leave the premises. Phil's plane is still in Houston because of the hurricane warning.
"There are flashlights in the linen closet along with matches and candles, in case the electricity goes out. You probably should put the folding chairs on the patio inside the storage shed. Oh—and there's a transistor radio and batteries up in the closet in your room.
"You better make something to eat now, before the lights are out, too. Honey, I'm so sorry, I'm leaving you like this. I've asked Derek to come stay with you until the hurricane blows over. He'll know what to do; he's done this before. I better go so you can be ready before it hits. Bye, bye."
Great, she was going to be in the middle of a hurricane, away from her home and family. To make matters worse, she would be alone in the house with the handsome next door neighbor. She wasn't sure what bothered her the most, being afraid of the impending storm or being alone all night with Derek.
She quickly went outside and dragged the chairs into the shed. She left the glass table where it stood. There wasn't enough room for it in the shed. She couldn't manage it anyway—it was so darn heavy.
Back in the house, she got down the flashlights, candles, matches and radio, placing them all on the kitchen counter. Then she set to work starting dinner.
The food was almost done when Derek arrived. As Bella went to let him in, the door flew open with unexpected force, nearly knocking him off the threshold. The rain was coming down in sheets and the wind was howling like a banshee. She'd seen rainstorms in Washington, but holy cow, It was a drizzle compared to this.
He stood just inside the door while she scrambled to get him some towels. The water was dripping off of his slicker onto the tile floor. He removed the rain coat after sopping up most of the moisture, and folding it in upon itself, handed it to Bella who hung it over a rack in the utility room.
Derek followed her into the kitchen, noticing the candles etc. on the counter. "This is your first hurricane, huh?"
"Hopefully my last," she responded.
"So, what's still to be done?"
Bella looked up at him innocently, and said, "I don't know—you tell me."
"Okay . . . have you filled the bathtubs?"
"No, was I supposed to?"
Derek answered by quickly running up the steps to the bathroom and filling the tub, then he did the same for the one downstairs. Bella waited outside the room, and asked the obvious. "Why did you need to fill the tubs?"
"Bring me a couple of buckets and I'll tell you. While you're at it, do you know where Renee keeps the bottled water?"
Handing him the buckets, she muttered, "The drinking water's stacked in the utility room—now about the tubs . . ."
He led Bella into the bathroom and placed a bucket beside the commode. "When the electricity goes, there's no water pressure. You have to manually flush the toilets."
Satisfied, she said, "I guess that makes sense." All at once, her chocolate eyes brightened. "I better check on dinner before it burns."
While she was busy taking the food out of the oven, Derek was looking out the window. "I see you put the chairs away; I hope the table stays put."
Bella set the food on the table while Derek helped with the place settings. She seated herself and announced, "Well, we might as well eat, and wait 'til this hurricane passes over."
Derek chuckled, "Bella, I hate to tell you this, but the hurricane hasn't hit us yet. This is just the beginning."
They were finishing up their dinner when the storm suddenly erupted in intensity. Tree branches and who knows what else were pinging off the roof, and assaulting the house on all sides. With each creak and sound of breakage, Bella would jump in fright.
She stood up to clear away the dishes when Derek suddenly shouted, "Get away from the door."
Bella backed away, but not fast enough. She screamed as she saw the table from the patio heading toward the sliding glass door. Derek grabbed her, yanking her from the dining room. He buried her head into his chest, covering her protectively with his arm.
At that instant the table smashed through the house, as the patio door exploded. Jagged pieces of twisted metal hailed down on the tile floor while the pane shattered into a million shimmering bits. The shower of splintering glass scattered the crystal shards throughout the room. The palm tree in the yard was then wrenched from the ground, uprooting it. The tree followed the trajectory of the table, toppling onto the patio awning, sending it crashing to the cement below. The palm careened through the door, taking part of the roof with it, and landed with a thud on top of the now flattened dining room table.
Clinging to Derek, Bella was unharmed physically, but she just couldn't stop shaking.
"Bella," he offered, "We're okay; there's nothing more out there that can fall on us." Of course there was a chance that the neighbors' property could drop in unannounced, but he thought it best to omit that possibility; she was traumatized enough already. Come to think of it, he was pretty shook up himself. Sure, he'd been through hurricanes before, but this one took the cake.
"You need to let go of me now, so I can tack up some blankets over the rest of these windows." D'arvit—my dad told the Dwyers to get some hurricane shutters installed. Why didn't they listen to him?
He tried to gently push her away, but it was no go. She clung to him all the more desperately.
"Okaaaay . . . I guess I don't blame you." He kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, we'll get through this. It can't last forever."
Derek rubbed her arms and back, in a comforting gesture. Then he tightened his hold around her attempting to stop her from trembling.
"Sweetheart, you have to tell me where the blankets and thumbtacks are." He tipped her chin up so she could look at him.
Her heart was still racing in fight or flight mode, and she could barely get the words out, her breathing was so ragged. She whimpered, pointing to a door, "In the linen closet."
Dropping his arms, he moved back a bit to walk toward the hallway. Bella scrambled to hang onto him, crying, "No—please don't let go of me. Not yet."
He wasn't Jacob, but the old saying, Any port in a storm, certainly rang true at this moment.
They walked together to gather up the supplies. Derek opened the windows a crack and somehow got the ones in the living room and downstairs master bedroom covered up. It wouldn't prevent the glass from breaking, but at least the sharp pieces would be somewhat contained.
He led Bella to the couch, his arms still wrapped about her.
The wind was whistling outside, and yes, coming through the gaping hole in the dining room. Objects were being flung around in there, hitting nearby walls, and noisily clattering to the floor. The rain was unceasingly pouring in, causing a flood of cold water to lap at the edge of the living room entrance. The house was shuddering on its foundation, rivaling that of Bella's. It was a wonder that the home didn't collapse in a heap.
Some of the clay tiles from the roof skittered like grasshoppers and slid off, landing in the yard in broken fragments, adding more terrifying sounds to the cacophony of the storm. Then when it seemed that nothing could possibly get worse—it did. The-lights-went-out.
Bella let out a shriek and buried her head into Derek's shoulder. Luckily, he had placed his flashlight on the nearby coffee table. He reached out and grabbed it.
He touched her arm gently. "I have to get the candles from the kitchen. I'll be back before you can blink an eye. You'll be all right, just don't move."
Right—she couldn't move if she wanted to. Her legs were jelly, and she felt like her breath was stuck in the base of her lungs. Her heart was beating so fast, she swore it was going to punch clear through her chest wall. How long was this storm going to last? She was utterly terrified. The next time Renee tried to talk her into moving here, she would remember this little episode.
Derek returned to her side, and laid down three pillar candles, along with the radio on top of the coffee table. After lighting the candles, he drew Bella closer, once more resting her head on his upper arm. They sat quietly while the storm raged on.
The two of them fell asleep on the couch, startling at times when various objects would slam against the house with a loud bang. Derek heard a scraping noise like metal grinding on the back wall—probably the shed, being hurtled about by the wind. Well, there was nothing he could do about it.
The radio was playing softly. He listened as the time was announced—10:15. Derek moved to stand up and Bella moaned in protest. He scooped her up off the couch carefully and carried her to the master bedroom. Laying her on one side of the bed, he proceeded to pull the covers down on the other side. After taking off the shoes from her feet, Derek lifted her again. He transferred her over to the area that had the sheets pulled back, so he could cover her up. He placed the bedding over her, and was ready to return to the living room, when her eyes suddenly popped open. She sat up, clawing at his arm.
"Where are you going?" she wailed. "Don't leave me!"
"Shh . . . It's okay . . . I'll just be in the living room on the couch."
She reached her arms out, beckoning him to come back. "I'm scared, Derek, please . . . stay with me. I don't want to be alone."
My god, those doe eyes had him undone. He allowed her to pull him toward her. She drew back the covers. Removing his shoes, he obediently slipped in close to her soft, warm body. Bella tugged at his arms, drawing them around her shoulders. This was not a good idea. It would be harder than ever for him to tell her goodbye. How could he let himself fall in love with this girl? This was a serious case of heartbreak just waiting to happen—as if it wasn't happening already—d'arvit!
Jacob wasn't in the middle of a hurricane, but he might as well have been. He was flipping over in his bed, tossing the blanket in the air, punching and pushing at his pillow. Alas, sleep kept evading him. He couldn't help it. His Bella was in danger. A horrendous storm had her surrounded, and he was nowhere near to protect her.
Murphy's law—hell, it was always that damn Murphy's law. Florida could go without a single hurricane in twenty years, but as soon as Bella hit the tarmac, the hurricane gods conspired against her.
Throwing off the covers, he shot out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of milk. The glasses clinked as he removed one and set it on the table. He filled it to the brim and took a few draughts. There was a jar of peanut butter sitting on the counter, so he took a slice of bread from its plastic wrapper and slathered it in peanut butter.
When he finished with his midnight snack, he hopped back into bed. Staring at the cracks in the ceiling, he tried desperately to think about something pleasant—yeah, that was the ticket. He had to think positively. Bella would be fine, and joy of joys, she'd be back in his arms in less than sixteen days.
What was he worried about? Bella was in safe hands. Phil should be home by now, and Renee was her mother. They would never let anything happen to their only daughter—or Charlie would go down there and kill them both.
He closed his eyes and after a while, finally ventured into dreamland. He woke abruptly at five A.M., and try as he might, could not let go of the thought to call her. Damn the stupid phone bill; he'd deal with that later.
Trudging back into the kitchen, he turned on the light and dialed Bella's familiar number.
The ringtone went off on the nearby nightstand, waking Derek. He looked around, disoriented. There was a cute brunette tangled up with him, her head was on his chest, a hand lying across his shoulder. One of his arms encircled her back, his other resting comfortably at her waist. The cell continued to ring. Bella turned over, oblivious to the sound. He reached over and blearily answered, "Hello."
Who was that? It didn't sound like Phil, and it definitely wasn't Bella. "Sorry, wrong number," Jacob muttered.
A/N: I know I'm gonna get hammered for leaving y'all hanging, but them's the breaks. Ha, Ha! Ooh! I'm so mean . . .
